I SAW him do his act before a large and motley throng
That sought relief and laughter in the house of dreams and song.
Just who he was or whence he came of course I cannot tell.
He only played a banjo, but he played the banjo well.
I saw her washing dishes in a simple little cot.
Her life was spent in toiling there upon the selfsame spot.
Her face was furrowed, and each line a story had to tell.
She only kept a household, but she kept the household well.
I saw him fire an engine in a vast and grimy room,
Though it was hard to see him in the still and dusty gloom.
He watched each motion keenly as the pistons rose and fell.
He only fired an engine, but he fired the engine well.
I saw him digging ditches with the mud upon his hands,
And with that steady motion that a digger understands.
He claimed no fame nor fortune; only brawn he had to sell.
He was but digging ditches, but he dug the ditches well.
It matters rather little what task one may choose to do,
So long as it is honest and his purposes are true.
The years will ring his story far upon their golden bell,
If he will only do the thing he may be doing well.